9 things you should still be doing at 70 if you want people to one day say, “I hope I’m like that when I’m older”

The old man on the lakeside trail is the reason you turned your head. Not because of his age, but because of the way he moved—like the world itself was a familiar song and he still knew all the words. His white hair stuck out from beneath a faded cap, his backpack was scuffed, and his walking stick clicked rhythmically against the stones. A group of teenagers stepped aside to let him pass, and one of them whispered, not unkindly, “I hope I’m like that when I’m older.”

There it is—that quiet wish. Not “I hope I’m rich” or “I hope I’m important,” but “I hope I’m like that.” Like the woman in her seventies who laughs so hard the whole café turns, or the neighbor who still plants tomatoes every spring and shares them with the kids next door. At seventy, you’re not auditioning for youth. You’re teaching the world what it means to grow older without shrinking.

Here are nine things you should still be doing at 70 if you want people—strangers, grandchildren, the barista who knows your order—to look at you and think, with a kind of soft awe: “I hope I’m like that when I’m older.”

1. Keep Moving Like Your Body Is Still Invited to the Party

There’s a specific sound to a seventy‑year‑old who’s made peace with movement: the soft tap of walking shoes, the creak of a bike seat, the splash of a pool lane. It’s not about speed; it’s about presence. You don’t have to run marathons. You just have to refuse the idea that your body is finished.

Walk the same streets you’ve always walked, but notice them with new eyes. Feel the morning cool on your cheeks. Let the breeze sneak under your collar. Let your heart rate rise on that last hill. Park a little farther away on purpose. Take the stairs if your knees allow. Dance in your kitchen to the song you slow-danced to in 1972, and the one your granddaughter sent you last week “because you’ll like this beat.”

People notice that. They see you choosing stairs, choosing walks, choosing to stretch in the park. The body that still participates in the world sends out a quiet message: I’m not done here.

Simple Movement	How Often	How It Feels
30-minute walk outdoors	Most days	Like you’re in conversation with the world
Light stretching or yoga	3–4 times a week	Like your joints are quietly thanking you
Gentle strength exercises	2–3 times a week	Like you’re future-proofing your independence

You become memorable not because you defy aging, but because you collaborate with it—staying flexible, strong enough to carry your own bags, stable enough to bend down and tie your shoes without a small battle.

2. Stay Curious Enough to Be a Beginner Again

At 70, curiosity is more striking than wrinkle cream. It’s the seventy-two-year-old who signs up for a pottery class and ends up with lopsided mugs that her grandson insists on using “because Grandpa made it.” It’s the woman who finally buys a digital camera, then sits in the park learning about shutter speed from a stranger thirty years younger.

There’s a certain magic in choosing to be a beginner again when society expects you to be done accumulating firsts. Learn to say, “Show me,” without embarrassment. Let a teenager teach you how to use a new app. Ask your neighbor about the plant you keep seeing on their windowsill. Sign up for that language course you always meant to take for the trip you may or may not ever go on.

People remember that. They see you taking notes in the library workshop, asking questions at the community garden, leaning in when someone explains something technical. You’re not the older person parked in stories about the past; you’re still opening new doors. And that’s the kind of aging that makes onlookers think, quietly: I hope I never lose that.

3. Keep Saying Yes to Real Connection

Let Conversations Be Your Superpower

Somewhere along the way, we start to assume that older people talk at you, not with you. You can be the exception. Be the seventy-year-old who still asks real questions and waits for the answers. The one who remembers the barista’s name, and the fact that her dog had surgery last month.

Connection doesn’t have to be grand. It’s the neighbor you wave to every morning, the friend you message silly photos to, the book club you actually attend instead of only threatening to join. It’s listening more than you correct. It’s telling stories without always having to be right at the end of them.

People watch how you treat others. They notice if you light up around younger generations instead of scolding them for their slang and their phones. They remember the way you make space in conversation, the way you say, “Tell me more about that,” and mean it.

Stay Slightly Overdressed for Joy

There’s a subtle art to still getting dressed for life. Not out of vanity, but out of respect for the day. Put on the shirt that makes you stand a little straighter, the scarf with the wild colors, the hat that makes you feel like you still have a secret or two. You’re signaling to the world—and yourself—that this day matters enough to show up for it properly.

The person who still cares, even in small ways, about how they show up in the world, is the person we remember. They embody a kind of quiet dignity, a joy that says, “I’m still in the game.”

4. Keep Making Things, Not Just Consuming Them

At seventy, your hands have stories. They’ve carried, cooked, mended, held, typed, built. Let them keep doing that. Plant seeds, bake bread, write postcards, carve small wooden animals, stitch quilts from shirts you can’t quite throw away. Your creations don’t have to be perfect to matter; they just have to exist.

This is what younger people see and admire: not just your opinions, but your output. The jam jars lined up on your counter, the sketchbook by your favorite chair, the half-finished novel saved on your computer. You are proof that creation is not an age-limited hobby; it is a lifelong habit of engagement with the world.

Even small acts count. Send a handwritten note to someone you love. Jot down memories in a notebook, not as a legacy project with a heavy capital L, but as a simple offering: “This is what it was like to be me, in this time, in this body.” These become treasures, not because they’re polished, but because they’re real.

5. Keep Laughing, Especially at Yourself

Be the Person Who Still Finds Things Funny

Nothing disarms fear of aging like watching someone older who laughs easily. Not the brittle laugh of someone pretending everything is fine, but the deep, surprising, belly kind. The laugh when you forget a word and jokingly invent a new one. When you accidentally wear mismatched socks out in public and decide it’s a new fashion statement.

At seventy, the world assumes you’re weighed down with seriousness. Bills, losses, medical charts, empty chairs at holiday dinners. And those things are real. But your ability to find and share lightness in the middle of all that—that’s what people remember.

When something goes wrong—and things often do—try to be the first to spot the absurdity. Not to dismiss pain, but to make room for relief within it. The young people around you are silently taking notes: So that’s how you stay human when you’ve seen so much.

Refuse to Become Only Your Aches and Pains

Everyone has a body that complains by seventy. The difference lies in whether that becomes your main conversation topic. There’s a deep, quiet nobility in acknowledging the realities—“Yes, my knee is shot today”—and then pivoting to something else: the book you’re reading, the tree you noticed on your walk, the neighbor’s dog that insists on visiting you.

People will one day say, “I hope I’m like that,” about the older person who doesn’t deny their struggles but refuses to live solely inside them.

6. Keep Being Brave with Your Boundaries and Your Softness

There’s a kind of courage that blooms late in life: the courage to say no, and the courage to still remain soft. At seventy, you’ve earned the right to decide how you spend your finite time. You can decline invitations that drain you. You can protect your mornings for quiet or your evenings for rest.

But here’s what makes you remarkable: you don’t use boundaries as walls. You still let people in. You still say “I love you” first. You still risk your heart on new friendships, new routines, new places, even at an age when loss has already taught you how much there is to lose.

The older person who can say, “This is what I need,” and also, “How can I be there for you?” is the one generations admire. You model a way of aging that isn’t about withdrawal, but about deliberate, thoughtful engagement.

7. Keep Planning Tomorrow, Even While Honoring Yesterday

Let the Future Still Have a Shape

One of the most quietly radical things you can do at seventy is to still make plans. Book tickets for next spring’s concert. Arrange a walk with a friend next week. Set a small goal for the month ahead: learn a new recipe, clear one corner of the attic, visit the river more often.

It’s not about pretending you’re immortal. It’s about refusing to treat your life as if it’s already over while you’re still waking up in the morning. When people see you talk in terms of “next year” or “when the cherries are ripe again,” they learn that hope can outlast birthdays.

Tell Your Stories Like Gifts, Not Monuments

Your past is rich. You’ve seen the world tilt and retilt. When you share your stories not as lectures, but as offerings, something beautiful happens. You become a bridge, not a judge. Tell the story of the first time you were truly afraid. The first job you hated. The love that almost was. The mistake that made you kinder.

Do it with humility and humor, and younger people will lean in instead of tuning out. They will walk away thinking, “If this is what seventy looks like—curious, connected, human—I don’t need to be so scared of getting there.”

Frequently Asked Questions

Is it too late to start these habits if I’m already in my seventies?

No. That’s the quiet miracle of being human: your life keeps responding to even small changes. A ten-minute walk, a new class, a phone call you’ve been postponing—each one shifts the texture of your days. You don’t need a decade; you just need the next step.

What if I have health limitations that make movement or socializing hard?

Start with what is possible instead of what is ideal. Gentle chair exercises, stretching in bed, calling a friend instead of meeting in person, joining an online group instead of going out—these all count. The goal isn’t to match someone else’s seventy; it’s to stay engaged at the edge of your own capacity.

How can I stay connected to younger generations if my family lives far away?

Look close to home. Volunteer at a school or library, join a community garden, attend local talks or workshops. Even regular chats with neighbors or staff at familiar places can create meaningful intergenerational ties. Curiosity and kindness travel farther than bloodlines.

What if I feel like I’ve wasted too much time already?

Regret is heavy, but it’s also evidence that you care. Let it inform your choices, not paralyze them. You can’t rewrite decades, but you can absolutely change the tone of the years ahead. A single year lived with intention can transform how your whole life feels in hindsight.

How do I handle people who expect me to “act my age” in a limiting way?

Gently, and with a bit of quiet rebellion. You don’t need to argue; you can simply live. Take your class, wear your bright shoes, ask your questions, make your plans. Over time, you become living proof that “acting your age” can mean staying fully, beautifully alive—right up to the end of the trail.